Dusk
by Le Chat Noir
Summary: Hail to all! Welcome, welcome to the tale of a descent from darkness into light and from light into darkness, the tale of a child turned traitor, the tale of Maeglin Lomion, son of Eöl and Aredhel, cursed seed of the Kinslaying. Silmarillion story, as us
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Author's note: Hail to all! Welcome, welcome to the tale of a descent from darkness into light and from light into darkness, the tale of a child turned traitor, the tale of Maeglin Lomion, son of Eöl and Aredhel, cursed seed of the Kinslaying.  

Disclaimer: I certainly do not own Maeglin, Aredhel, Eöl, Nan Elmoth, Anguirel, Gondolin, or whatever else's mentioned in that story, I'll see as it goes along… Bow to the Great Master Tolkien. Bow and worship. 

Dusk

By Le Chat Noir

Dawn.

The darkness softly shunned the trembling rays of the breaking sun, a sun still young. The weary clouds, growing slightly pink under the caress of pale light, lazily stretched in the clearing sky, slowly settling down as sheep in a meadow in the draft of day. The blades of green grass danced in the light spring breeze, as the sunrays began to peer shyly over the mountains, and a fresh scent of flowers rose in the air. Songbirds awoke from their songbird-dreams and quietly, almost going unnoticed so natural they were, sang their songbird-songs rousing the laughter of rivers.

But in the dark Nan Elmoth, none of this was known. 

So it was not the first rays of sunlight that roused the child from his sleep that morning. In fact, in the perpetual shadows in which the Stardusk Valley drowned, one could not have even guessed that it was morning. As he turned over in his bed, blinking the confused dreams –what had it been about already? A white building, reaching for the sky…-  away, his mind hazily wondered what exactly had woken him. He stretched himself, enjoying the bed's coziness and warmth, and stared at the ceiling. Tried to remember. Today was a special day… 

Startling, he sprung out of bed, and started dressing in a rather precipitate way.

Father had gone on one of his long journeys yesterday evening. He remembered now him taking him in his strong arms to kiss him good-bye; a rather rough kiss, he had found. But the fact was there: today, Father wouldn't be home. And Mother had promised. 

Half opening the door as carefully as he could so as not to make it creak, he peered out in the corridor. Deserted. Closing the wooden door behind him he ventured with light and silent footing out of his room, and made his way like a shadow unheard and barely seen through the intricate mazes of the House of Eöl. 

But he knew his way. It had been countless times he had snuck along those walls, in dark mornings when everyone slept still. 

The door opened with the slightest push, offering no resistance to his small strength. As usual on these days, she was sitting near the window, the only window, and was gazing into the black forest, northwards, always. Pride was in her stance, even as she sat, for tall and fair was she even among her own people. 

Upon hearing his coming, she turned her gaze to him, and it was bright with unshed tears, though a small smile played on her lips. 

"Mother, you promised." 

The little boy climbed onto his mother's lap, and she passed a loving hand through his still short hair. 

"Which one would you wish to hear?"

"The building of Gondolin."

He raised his glance to her expectantly, eager and hungry to hear once more the story he knew already by heart. Aredhel sighed; but in her heart she could not deny that she was glad that her son found interest in the doing of the Noldor, and maybe hoped, somewhere, somehow, that those hours spent to tell him of her kind would one day bear their fruits. She gently kissed his small forehead.

"'Tis a lengthy story than that of the building of the white Gondolin, and every stone, every gem and even the singing water drops that fill its fountains have each a story of their own, in the city that was built in remembrance of Tirion. But if the true telling of Turgon's hidden city begins a very, very long time ago, in another age, and of that age we will speak not, for our time is short. However, years and years ago, when this tale begins and unfolds, Turgon still reigned over the realm of Nevrast from the tall tower of Vinyamar that watched the sea, and the faithful Finrod had his throne in the fortress of Tol Sirion…"

___________________________________________________________________________

And so time passed, and years went by, and spring arose, and winter fell, but in darkness Nan Elmoth dwelt and shadow veil shrouded her days… 

The child grew within the night. When he reached the age of twelve, his father gave him a name: Maeglin, Sharp Glance, for he saw that his son's eyes were sharper than most, and could see things forbidden to common gazes. In her heart, Aredhel thought that it wasn't a wonder, as for all his life Eöl had confined him under the dark foliage, never seeing other light than the blazing fires in his father's house; but she spoke her mind not. And in her heart she had given him a name since he was born, in the forbidden tongue of the Exiled, and that name was Lomion, the Son of Twilight. 

Eöl familiarized him with the art of smithery, and he proved to be a good student, eventually spending most his time in his father's forges. He also taught him the common Sindarin, and the mysterious Avarin, known to none but the Avari themselves, and in secret Aredhel gave him lessons of the ancient Quenya. Soon he had become fluent in all three languages, and his head was full of the ancient lore his mother had poured into him when he was a child, with vivid stories and songs. And, day after day, as he became more and more skilled as a smith and grew in body and mind, also grew in his heart another longing, another yearning he could not quite place, but just the want of _something else_, that made his mind wander and his gaze turn to the north, where his _other_ kin roamed, where there was another life was perhaps waiting for him. [1]

His spare time he spent with his mother, or alone in his chamber to read; but there were few books in the House of Eöl, and he knew them all by heart. 

___________________________________________________________________________

And so one day Eöl waited for him in the forges in vain. Angry, like a father be to his young and favorite son who refuses to come down to dinner one day out of caprice, he climbed the stairs to Maeglin's room, and threw the door open without warning.

"Why did you not come to the forge?"

But the young elf paid no heed. Standing at the window with his elbows on the sill, he gazed at the darkness outside with an eerie smile on his lips, a strange gleam reflected in his eyes as if it was light he saw instead of shadows. For a moment, Eöl stood baffled, as never before had Maeglin looked more like his Aredhel. 

"Father, I wish to ride North tomorrow, with Mother, in search of her kinsmen."

Instantly, Eöl stiffened, froze, and his gaze turned to ice, but the youth, who looked like he was trying to pierce the darkness and see beyond, in his imagination, paid no heed.

"You shall not. I… have need of you in the forge." His voice had fallen to an icy growl, though still he tried to hold the bewilderment and slowly rising wrath. However, he was caught completely off-guard, and found the words hard to come by, ashe had always hated talking.

Maeglin turned to face him, and his face fell with incomprehension, and a shadow of doubt. He had always known. He must have known; at least, guessed, somehow. He wasn't stupid. No. He was all but stupid.

"Then, next week? Next month?" Why continue fooling yourself? Never. It was never. But just, just dwell a little more in the sweet illusion… 

"No. You… will stay here."

The young elf's eyes opened wide, and suddenly in his heart there was a fire sprang up, and for the first time, he looked at his father and saw him through. He saw that Eöl had always intended for him to remain in the darkness by his side, a prisoner like his mother, never to see the light he craved. He saw that Eöl wanted him a slave to his smithery, caught between the boundaries of the forest, shunning the sunrays like himself. He saw that Eöl wanted him Maeglin of Nan Elmoth, noble among the Teleri, and a hater of his kin. 

"You have no right…"

The Dark Elf advanced on him.

"I have every right. I am your father. You are Maeglin, son of the House of Eöl, and in the House of Eöl you will remain!"

"My Mother…" 

He was systematically cut off.

"Your mother has no kin." 

And now he was towering above the not yet fully grown youngster, tall and powerful, but Maeglin's fury grew only greater for he knew he could not win. 

"My Mother is Aredhel, Daughter of Fingolfin, she is Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of the Gondolithrim! My Mother is the King's sister, she belongs…"

Abruptly, his fingers came to close around Maeglin's thin forearm with crushing strength. The younger elf felt the tears coming to his eyes, but did his best to hold them back, not wanting, refusing to break down in front of him.

"Your mother is my wife." 

His voice had dropped to a whisper spat through clenched teeth. Unconsciously, Maeglin imitated him. Their eyes stared into one another's, unblinking, hateful, both gazes burning with new-found dislike and wrath.

"You took her by force."

"And how would you know that?" 

He felt his father's iron grip around his arm, and felt quite sure that it was broken. During all those years, he had almost forgotten his father's incredible strength, and could not refrain a bitter tear to roll down his cheek.

"She told me. She told me all." He knew what a dangerous position he was putting Aredhel in, but at the moment couldn't care less. "She told me how you lured her into your hole by your dark magic, how you captured her and forbid her to go, how you forced her into your bed!" And he shouted it into Eöl's face. "She is no wife to you! You got no consent from either her family, or her! You have no rights…" [2]

But he was stopped short again, as Eöl threw him with all his might towards the far end of the room, and he ended crumbled in a heap at the foot of the wall. He stirred no more, and his body was only moved by his regular, sharp breathing. Eöl looked at him, and sneered.

"You should know your mother better, for all the time you spend with her. You should know that was it not for her consent, you would never have been born."

And then he was out of the room. Slowly, Maeglin sat up, leaning his back against the wall, and began painfully massaging his arm, to make sure that the bone wasn't fractured. 

~

1- Aredhel never actually revealed to Maeglin the emplacement of Gondolin; so that place would either just be Himlad, or Maeglin is bright and guessed because Aredhel was always looking in that direction. 

2- Actually, it is said that Aredhel wasn't taken entirely by force, but I guess that would just be Maeglin's point of view. Eöl's point of view is rather different, as one can see, but I guess none of them detain the actual truth. 

Eöl's character was difficult to interpret. I will hold to my belief that he is an Avari came West, despite the obvious fact and statement that he is in fact a Teleri. But I've read on Ardalambion that the name might be an Avarin name, and therefore it just got stuck in my big stubborn head that Eöl be an Avari… In my opinion, he loves his wife and son fairly well, however not in the best of possible ways. I mean, I do not think that Maeglin is constantly beaten by his father or anything, just that he has always been a little scared of him, which is not a wonder, knowing Eöl's ways… But I guess they were on quite friendly terms, like master and student, before Maeglin submitted him his… request… Note to self: never, ever bother Eöl… 

I've decided not to post long chapters for this, so they could be a little faster in coming… 


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Author's note : Ok, so I made Aredhel wish 'Happy birthday', as I couldn't quite make her say 'Happy conception day', could I? And thanks to everyone on Silmfics who answered my questions! I began working on this unaware of the fact that Maeglin was only twenty years old –which makes him a child of eight by human standards!-, but I was too lazy to rewrite it…  
  
Ok, I'm not really comfortable with first person POVs yet. So, hm, I don't know if it'll work out, right?  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, it ain't changed. I still own nothing.  
  
  
  
Dusk  
  
By Le Chat Noir  
  
It is I now who am sitting at the window, like my Mother did when I was a child. It is I now who am looking North in longing of the light unknown, in longing of a freedom I crave and am determined to catch one day. It is I whose heart today lies in a kingdom I have never known, but through my mother's tales, never seen, but in my mother's eyes. Gondolin with its six Gates, the City of Light Hidden Kingdom, where seats Turgon son of Fingolfin and Idril the Silverfoot and the fairest city of all ever on Endor and that no one could find and the song of fountains and of nightingales. Everything beautiful and sweet to the eye and ear ever that stands in the semblance of Tirion the white. That I'm forbidden to ever see, and you ever again.  
  
My father is gone more and more often now. The day before yesterday, he's been invited by the Naugrim to a feast in Nogrod, and he has left. In silence, as always now. Sorry, my mother. I know your proud heart suffers from his scorn. I know you've loved him, once upon a time, and maybe love him still; I've guessed through your words and your hurting eyes; I know the pain in your heart. I know it is my fault. Sorry my mother. My dear mother who's given me so much, and even that which I did not ask for. I'm sorry I cannot give it all back to you.  
  
But I promise you one thing. I cannot give you life like you've given me life; I cannot give you thirst like you've given me thirst; I cannot give you knowledge like the one you've given me; I cannot give you hope, and for that I should be glad, for under this roof hope is only bitter. But I promise you one thing. I promise you my despair, I promise you my strife; I promise you to fight like you've wanted to fight, I promise you my hatred for him and the life he means for us, I promise you to hope in your place, I promise you, I promise you all that. And rest. One day.  
  
Why, I wonder? Why look out this window into the perpetual darkness? What is it that draws our gaze to this unseen light, to look at the shadows and fool ourselves? What is it, what is it I yearn for? I do not know. I know only the darkness. I know only the tears. All I know you taught me, my mother, but still the light is but a dimly outlined idea in my heart. The light. A beautiful word, but empty of meaning. I have never seen a light brighter than the blazing fires of my father's forges.  
  
I remember a time when my father used to take me with him on his journeys to the dwarven cities. We travelled only by night, and always was he careful of not letting me see the Sun. The Sun. In that time did I learn everything my father could teach, and everything the dwarves were willing to let me know. I remember that time. Yes. How far away it seems now.  
  
But the door creaks open and you come in, my mother. You have that sad little smile on your lips, as always, and as far as I am able to recall you've always worn it, the smile through which I've guessed all the wonders of the City.  
  
"Happy birthday." Oh yes. I had almost forgotten. "Maeglin." I notice the name is sour for you to speak. It's Lomion, my mother, you know that well, just as I do. It's Lomion to you.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
You peer out at the darkness, and in your eyes are reflected gleams of the light invisible to mine, Sharp Glance as I am. But suddenly I notice there is something unusual about you. Is it that your face is brighter, your pace lighter, is it that today you have decided to forget, just one day, for me? Is it that your hand rests on the windowsill in a way I have not yet seen, is it that fresh unknown scent that emanates from your white robe? Is it that new glimpse in your eyes, almost playful, that makes you look young, like a maiden with a secret?  
  
But you look at me, smiling in a fashion all too strange, and burst into a clear laughter.  
  
Mother, Mother, what do you have in mind? Too seldom have I heard you laughing, truly laughing! And even as you laugh no more, still it rings in the in the small, dark room, caught prisoner by the walls.  
  
"There is not much for a celebration in this sombre valley. But I will offer you what I can."  
  
What does this wry smile mean?  
  
"Come."  
  
And before I can stand, you have already turned away.  
  
I follow you down the corridors, ever wondering where you are leading me. Today you walk proud and tall, though I find I cannot get rid of my habit to be wary of the gazes of my father's servants. You enter the stables, seeming like you knew where you were going. Still I do not. Confidently, you lead your horse into the outer darkness; bewildered, I hear you refusing the guards' escort. The little master will come with me, you say. The guards protest "But a child…" However, you will not hear.  
  
And soon we are both riding swiftly in the dark forest, under the trees' shadows, two figures robed in white mounted on black steeds, past the branches that seek to tear.  
  
  
  
~  
  
  
  
Well, well, well, it's good to get back at writing! Next chapter coming will feature Maeglin's first encounter with the light… It may be long in coming, as I find it to be one greatly important turn in the young elf's life, and wish to do it as well as possible.  
  
Thanks to the reviewers! 


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Author's note: Certainly not as good as I would have wished it to be.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't you find that disclaimers have a disturbing way of resisting all my attempts at trying to give them the smallest bit of originality? 

Dusk

By Le Chat Noir

Never have I wandered as far from the House.

It is getting lighter and lighter by the minute. We ride now at a pace, and there are small spots of something that is not fireflies dancing already between the dark branches. Another kind of fire seems to be blazing above the treetops themselves; a steady light that is of pale gold, and not the burning crimson of dancing fire, but rather drops of honey-rain. I feel a strange feeling of dread creeping slowly into my heart, and my horse must have sensed my fear too, for I can feel the tension in its back. Absently, I run soothing fingers in its mane. My eyes are irresistibly drawn to the eerie spots of gold and silver mixed that appear and disappear as the wind rustles the leaves, and the dust raised by the passage of our horses can be seen in what look like solid shapes, but yet as they fall upon my face and arms all I feel is warmth. An unknown kind of warmth. 

But your face is serene, mother, and there is a smile that is not sad on your face. Your calm appeases my rising panic. Maybe, maybe I can recognize a little of that light now, maybe I've seen it already, maybe I've had seen it all along, and have only mistaken it for the stars in your eyes. 

Their play on my skin is intriguing. They linger not, their light step half-felt on my clothes, and yet they burn my eyes when I gaze at them too intensely. I can see them as golden threads strung across the air. Hesitantly, I reach out, and try to snatch them into being. But when I warily open my tight fist again, fearing what I may find enclosed in it, there is nothing. You laugh, your delightful, cheerful laugh. I blush furiously at my own childishness. Oh mother, I could spend days and days just listening to you laughing. Is it that kind of happiness I perceive in your laughter that fills the air of Gondolin fairer than the song of the dripping water? Or is it but you, mother, who can laugh like that? 

But as I lift my gaze the branches of the trees are beginning to spread looser. There are blinding spots of white between the leaves, which from dark are growing into shades of green and gold. Green… it is a color I have seldom seen before. It is a beautiful one, and pleasant to the eye. But these pale blue areas in the heights forbid me to stare any longer, and I look away quickly, only to feel my gaze be drawn to them again. My eyes are yet unaccustomed to such light, but I have never seen the sky in daylight before. 

However, suddenly, clenching my teeth, I have to close my eyes and turn my head away, shunning the light, for the shelter of the trees has vanished and the light is too strong. There is a burning ball of white fire there up in the heights. It feels like a dagger has been run through my pupils, and for a second I am sure to be blind. My steed has patently never beheld such a thing before either, and pulls up abruptly, nearly throwing me off my seat, and neighs in the most frightened way. Suddenly gone wild, it turns around and gallops away into the dark forest again. I have to bend my head and bury my face in its mane to avoid being whipped by the low branches, only half-succeeding. I try to pull on the reins, shouting at it to stop, but the animal won't heed my commands. I hear the dry leaves crackling under its hooves and flying around us in the mad whirlwind raised by its gallop. 

And I yell, not even hearing my own voice, but eventually it is not because I have ordered it to that the horse stops. As I jump down from its back, I can feel the sweat on its robe. Passing a hand through my hair with difficulty, I try to untangle the knots in it somewhat, and find with a grimace that several dry leaves and blades of grass, and even a branch, have succeeded into getting stuck in it. Now in an officially bad mood, I seized the reins with a firm grasp, and try to pull the animal forwards, to the north again.

"Come." 

But the horse stays firmly put on the ground, refusing to move, just like a donkey would. After a minute if pulling as hard as I could, to no account, I finally gave up, feeling a sweat drop on my forehead. I angrily throw the reins away.

"Fine. Looks like I'll be going faster without you anyway." 

Shoving my hands into my pockets [1], I stride away. But soon, as I begin to see the dancing white spots again, suspended in the air, my pace slows down, and I feel thousands gazes in the forest watching me, unseen by even my piercing eyes. I stop to listen, but there is nothing to be heard except my own breath, and the beating of my heart. 

Was that…

What!?

There is a song rising from the interlaced branches of darkness. I feel like I recall that song, from long, long ago, somewhere, but yet I am sure I've never heard it. Was that the lullaby you used to sing to me, mother, when I was a baby in the cradle? It is not a human voice; but something sweeter, like a silver flute's; and suddenly I realize, it must be the songbird's call. You had told me about these, my mother, you had told me about the nightingales in the King's garden, and yet I had never imagined something so fair and simple and ringing so clear. Even the birds had flown the dark cover of Nan Elmoth when the shadow grew. Even the birds. I listen still, bewitched by the gently rising melody, and then a note, high-perched, one note in the harmony, opens my eyes again and reminds me to walk on; and for a moment I fear no more.

~

Under the light I stand, blinking, my eyes slowly adjusting to the new blinding sun. Half my body stays still in the shadows, and I feel too cowardly to take a step and come in the full blaze of sunlight. Again I feel warmth against my skin, and I lift my face, with lips half-parted, and maybe I'm trying to drink the sunrays as rich hydromel. 

I am barely aware of you taking my hand, and gently pulling me forwards, and I guess more that I see the smile on your face. Precautious, I take some wary steps on the fresh, green grass, following your lead like one with no will. 

I see dimly the colors surrounding me, vivid, flashing, so live… 

The Sun, the Sun, Anar the Maia, how long have I yearned to look her in the face? How long have I spent trying to imagine her, through the legends and lore? How long have I longed, longed for this day to come? And, and… 

You hold my hand no more, and yet I walk on still, staring at the sky, until I can walk no more. And then I fall to my knees.

There is something in my throat and in my head that I cannot define. 

Covering my face with my hands in a trembling gesture, I feel the moist tears down my cheeks, and suddenly I laugh, for no reason, I laugh, and like a puppet with no strings I fall on the carpet of grass and flowers. It is all the tears I have never cried and all the laughs I have never laughed that now come pouring out in an unstoppable flood of no sadness nor joy. Yes, under the trees of Nan Elmoth hope can only be bitter, but then today under the sunlight it is the thin thread of hope I had nourished with such care that burns to ashes with its fire. 

Yet long as I have yearned to see her, as I have thought her to be the cure to my illness, today I understand that the thirst I have is none that the bright Anar can quench, and I stand not relieved, but vanquished under the white and golden light, for the fire that burns inside me is not that of the Sun. 

And slowly my mirthless laugh turns into that of a madman's. 

~ 

1 – Er, I don't know if elven robes would have pockets… 

Sorry for the long wait, but the darn horse was being more cooperative than Maeglin… who absolutely refused to be written. I had to spend hours persuading him that it wasn't that bad, but I hate lying to my characters. Then he accepted, but then insisted on having the story go his own way. This chapter did not come out at all like I expected it to; apparently Maedhros and Maglor are not the only ones who like taking over plots.

Next chapter in Aredhel's POV; just hope it will be better than this one. ::cringe::


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